Deadpool: Hope Detective
by Doctor Deadpool
Summary: It's kind of like Doctor Who. Except instead of the Doctor, there's Deadpool, instead of the police box he has an armored all-terrain vehicle, and instead of British people there's depressing anime characters who's problems he has to solve.


**Deadpool: Hope Detective**

**Chapter of The Hopeless Man**

* * *

_Craktwang! The sound of the guitar shattering on the hardwood floor resonates in the air of an otherwise silent atmosphere. A tall bearded figure whose finer details were lost in echoes of time and torment stood over him. Harsh words had cascaded from the man's lips and Wade had stood there numb and mute. _

_He would experience many things in his life. Torture, brainwashing, horrible experiments, constant battle, love, hate, but this? Despite forgetting so much he remembered this. That was the moment the monster inside him was truly born. He didn't have a name for it then. Now it's called 'Deadpool'._

_He started laughing and his father stopped talking. _

"Hey, mister!" a little dark-skinned boy tugs on the pants leg of Deadpool's "uniform"- the red and black full-body costume, copies of which he wore most of the time, "Do you play the guitar? Are you a superhero? ARE THOSE REAL NINJA SWORDS!"

"Mmm?" Deadpool had stared blankly into the window of a pawn shop, the guitar there brought to mind one of the few memories he had that was real. Not that it mattered much.

"Well, to answer your questions," he said, not turning to look at his inquisitor just yet, "I used to, I am when I feel like it, and yes these are real swords. And to answer your NEXT question, no I am not Spider-Man. Name's Deadpool. You can call me Wade."

"So what you doin' here if you're not a superhero?"

"Shit," Deadpool smacked himself on the head, "What time is it, Jimmy?"

"My name's Bamwow. And it's noon."

"That name. (snicker)Wow. I thought my life was rough, but you've got a long road ahead of you kid! And I've got some time to kill. Wanna see a trick?"

Bamwow nodded enthusiastically.

"All right, stand back!"

Deadpool backed up and started running toward a nearby alleyway. He flipped from one building to another, climbing higher with each jump, until at the very top he did a series of backflips and landed on his feet, posed and swords at the ready.

"Ta-da! Hey, where'd you go?" and then a sudden realization came to Deadpool.

Sure enough, his wallet was gone.

"THAT SHIT STAIN! IF I EVER SEE HIM AGAIN, SO HELP ME GOD . . . what is wrong with kids today? When I was that age I was doing normal stuff, like cutting up squirrels and shooting cats with BB guns . . ."

And so Deadpool goes down the street to make his appointment in Hells Kitchen, New York . . . Earth 616.23U, a universe identical to 616 except for one thing Agent Preston didn't die. Her soul isn't sharing a body with Deadpool. His mind is a darker place for it, though it's hard to tell.

While the tale of the dead presidents had a happier ending and Mephisto wasn't sufficiently impressed with the results to release Vetis, Deadpool faced North Korea alone. He defeated Butler with help of the imperfect X-Men clones made with his genetic material, but the price was high. Things were messy.

Now with Butler dead, there was no one to keep wiping his memory. The damage to his mind was healing. He was remembering things.

All of that sounds better than it is. His only choice now was to keep moving or truly lose his mind.

It's a French place, a nice one. He doesn't bother reading the name before bursting through the door.

"Okay, I'm not in the mood to fuck around people. I just want to see the owner, they know I'm coming. If they didn't before they do now."

"Aaaa, ah, sire, you need a reservation . . . "

"I think you'll find me under 'Your Mother'," which got a few snickers from the patrons not frozen in complete fear(he's armed and wearing a mask, after all), "And look, go ahead and call the fucking police. I could use a laugh. Tell them it's Deadpool and we can take bets on whether they even bother to show."

Before anything else can happen, another man came up to the head waiter and whispered something in his ear.

"Ah, right this way, Mr. Wilson. Ms. Hope will see you now. Charles will lead the way."

"Finally! Let's get this show on the road. Hup two-three four hup two-three four . . . "

It took about ten minutes to navigate the back of the restaurant, which may have something else at one time as it felt like a cross between a maze and a home.

" . . . double hup two-three four!" Deadpool had not shut up the entire time. Charlie was feeling a headache coming on, but knew better than to say anything to someone twice his size and fully armed.

"Here we are, sir."

"You sound a bit too relieved there, Charles. Maybe I need to come back when I'm finished and have some more quality time. I promise I'll be creative this time."

"That will not necessary, sir. I present to you, Lady Hope," he opened a door into an ornately decorated room with a distinctive asian flair.

"Hello, Mi-ster Wil-son. Aaaas you might pree-eesume I am Hope. Please, -ave a seeeeat. You may go, Charles," said Hope, her voice cracking, skipping and dragging in places.

Two couches dominated the room with a coffee table in the middle, though calling them such did a disservice to the decadent things. The one where he would was probably supposed to sit was empty and in the other there was a woman.

Deadpool could sense something off about her the minute he entered the room. Not necessarily bad, just . . . off. She wore a hard, pure white mask who's only features were two eye holes, though instead of eyes he saw only blackness and what could be a faint glow. Fake red hair seemed to shoot out from under them mask as if it wanted to stand up straight, but it's weight caused it to droop down. It was a convincing fake, but it's the kind of thing a mercenary spots.

Her body's covered head to toe with a black body suit. It actually looked quite soft(in fact, he had to resist the urge to touch it) and over that was a simple dress. On her feet, she wore heels. She had the bearing of an attractive, demure woman yet her clothing looked like a skin she would shed at any moment hanging on her tall super model frame.

She crossed her legs and Deadpool heard the whirring of a machine. He took a seat and put his feet on the table in front of him. There was a drink ready, too. Not that he'd touch it.

"So you're a robot? That's cool," he puts his hands under his chin, "Maybe after I'm done with whatever it is you want me to do, I can give you private tune up somewhere private? If you know what I mean."

"(Snort) Me? A robot? That's a funny thought eeeeeven no-w. I suppose it's even mostly true. The-ah-ey call me Hope now, but once they called me Janice. Yooouuu are the one that can't die, yes?"

"It's more the staying dead that seems to elude me, but for the sake of moving shit along, yeah, that's me. Among others, but again, moving on."

"Well I knew one such as yoooourself. Casshern. The Man Who Killed the Sun Named Moon and gained immortality."

"I would like the record to show that this was the moment I became convinced that you were full of shit, Grade-A, Madame Webb level BS."

"Iiiiii understand how this must sound. You see, as dis-a-mal as this world may seem at times I come from a muuuuch bleeeeeaker place. Thingsss wer- diffferent the-n. I was beautiful and my voice was a lovely inspiration to all. Through song, I brought a message of hope to a world wasted by Ruin. Now, I find other ways to bring ho-pe to any-any-anyone and everyone. Cesshern made my ooonly deesire come true: one llaasstt concert. And then we parted ways never to meet again."

"So this 'ruin' is why you are the way you are and stuff?"

"(Sigh)No. I was fully hu-man. The Ruin, whatever it actually waaaas, only seem-ed to e-ffect machines. The means by wiesch I de-parted my world broke my bo-dy- a story for another day. My wish to spread hope remains inspired boiy the heroes of this world, I now call myself "Hope". The mission I woould give you, Deadpool, is to go to worlds withooout hope and be mmmmy light in the darkness, where I cannot tread."

"Okay," Deadpool says, somewhat taken aback, "What makes you think I'm a good choice for this? Even motherfuckin' Wolverine would be a better choice, and that is NOT something I plan on EVER saying again. Just because I remind you of this 'Casshern' guy doesn't mean I'm ready to put on my Jesus robes."

"I have considered this for a long time, Deadpool. I'ave beeen watchiing you. You doon't need to trust my judgement just my resources."

Whelp, Deadpool thought, she's got me there.

"Okay, you're right. You have been paying attention. Long as you pay me real money I don't care if you make me fight fairy dust dragons. Just don't say I didn't give you full disclosure, babe. So how are we going to do this thing?"

"I am glad you ask," with that she presses a button and few minutes (and Deadpool's dick jokes) later, Charles enters the room with a briefcase. Wordlessly, trying to avoid Wade's attention(fuck you, Charles, I'll deal with you later you pussy) he opens the case.

"Oh joy! You got me a new costume, some guns and swords . . . that are exactly like the ones I'm packing right this very minute, CHARLES."

"The-ey may look the same, buuut they are Ruin-resistant. For you see, your first mission is my world. The laaast I heard the Ruin haad ceased for some reason, but I need certainty."

Deadpool continued to rummage through his new equipment. It was pretty boilerplate stuff: guns, swords, knifes. It just wasn't made of metal. Not even the ammo. There were a few other gadgets, some kind of black gauntlet thing, an arm patch in the shape of an "H", and a belt but those would probably need explaining.

"So I take it this "ruin" stuff causes rust or something?"

"Vee-ry astute, Mr. Wilson."

"Fantastic. It's going to take me forever- a whole minute maybe!- to get used to the new weight. Okay, so while I'm putting this shit on, you get to talking SOME MORE. And then you can shut up and I can start punching and shooting hopefully maybe. No peeking, Charles! You pervert, you."

"III grooow wearrry. Charles?"

"Very good, Madam," said, "For the time being, know that the patch is an interface between your mind and various latent abilities, both in you and your equipment. In fact, to a we don't know what you're capable of with it and the Unity Gauntlet."

"You need to fire who ever came up with that name. I KNOW IT WAS YOU CHARLES," Deadpool said behind the dressing screen.

"Ahem. Just focus and release, sir. What happens will be. The belt is another matter entirely. It is a short-range teleportation device, the kind which you are familiar with, operated through the Hope interface. The Agency of Hope programs your device for long-range jumps and inter-dimensional travel, merely press the buckle with your symbol on it. Again to come back."

"That fiiirst trriiips a do-zy," Hope chimed in.

"Indeed. Your first mission will be in unknown territory as well. While the mistress is from there, things could have changed drastically since her departure."

"Alright, alright. Enough fucking exposition. I'm ready to go. Also, my head feels funny. Is that mind interface thing such a good idea?"

"IIiii sssshould warn you. If sooomething is a miss, that means Luna is back."

"Luna? "The Sun Who was Named Moon" or whatever? You also didn't answer my question about the connection thingie."

"You know, you are muu-ch smar-ter than the blo-gs make you out to-be."

"Yeah, I've meant to have a private conference with those fuckholes to air my grievances. The kind where they're tied to a chair and I hit them with things. How much am I getting paid exactly? I'm starting to have second thoughts here. It might be that highly questionable patch. Paranoia might be a side-effect."

"Well, the first mission is a test run. You ar also working off the equipment, which was quite expensive," says Charles

"The fuck you say?"

Charles quickly pressed the button on Deadpool's belt when he wasn't looking.

"Have a nice trip, sir."

"Fuck you, Char-"

All the wind sucked out of him at once.


End file.
